Hyacinthus Bloomed
by AngelDeLumiere
Summary: It takes a steady hand to hold a criminal's. And when trying to find some normalcy in his whirlwind relationship, Akihito will take all the help he can get. Sequel to Sexy Ambush.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**I own nothing, as always.**

**This is the sequel to Sexy Ambush**

**VF**

One.

Akihito was used to Asami being controlling and stubborn. In their two years together, he had gotten used to it. Asami was as unyielding as a metal pole, and nothing would change that. Akihito did not want to change his nature, just his mind.

"We don't need rings, Asami. People will start asking questions!" the photographer argued. The older man was briskly walking away from a posh jewelry store in Ginza, having declared everything there was "complete trash".

"Let them," scowled the crime lord. Passersby caught one look at his contorted face, annoyance swirling in bright gold eyes, and leapt out of the way. Quickly. "They need to. The world should know you belong to me."

He was going to let that comment slide. It only stroked his lover's libido when Akihito argued. "I can't believe you're so wound up over some rings! I don't even remember agreeing to marrying you!" Akihito hissed the last half of his sentence, eyes darting around as if they could see someone eavesdropping. "Stop laughing, Kirishima!"

The secretary was not laughing outright, but Aki had spent enough time with him to recognize that smirk. Kirishima internalized most of his emotion, but the photographer could still read him. He knew when he was being laughed at!

"I'm not laughing, Takaba-kun," the bespectacled man opened the door. "Suoh's bringing the car around now."

"It's a ring or a collar, Akihito. Your choice," Asami nodded to his faithful guard.

"Ring it is," he hated giving in so quickly, but he did not doubt that the jerk meant it. He would strap a collar around his throat, lock it with a padlock and dangle the key tantalizingly in front of Akihito. "But not from Ginza," he was determined to win some part of the argument. "Or any place like it."

"For once, we agree. We are not getting something cheap from the mall that any fool can get," Asami waved Kirishima away and opened the door for Akihito himself. "In," he ordered with a jerk of his finger. "Take us to Omotesando,"

"Cheap? Asami, it's too expensive!" the photographer crawled over the plush leather seat. "I can't afford that!"

Asami snorted before yanking at Akihito's wrist, tugging him onto his lap. "You know I'm paying for it, and I can."

"Aassammmiiiiiiiiii," Akihito whined before pushing away from his lover. He ducked his chin, skillfully avoiding Asami's fervid kisses. "We're supposed to buy them for each other! It's bad luck to buy your own ring!" And the last thing they needed was bad luck, especially when the "marriage" was doomed from the start.

Gold eyes narrowed as hands clenched around his waist. Asami held him tightly while rubbing gentle circles just above his tailbone. Akihito shuddered with delight, but refused to give in to the ministrations. "If I have to wear this forever, it isn't going to be some cheap piece of metal that turns my finger green."

Stay strong, Akihito. Asami was trying to distract him with sex, and it was working. His spine was already tingling in a delightful way. "You jerk!" he tried muster up a convincing glare. "I wouldn't get yo something like that!"

Asami did not say anything, but skepticism oozed out of his pursed lips. Punching a button, the privacy screen rolled down. Akihito yelped and tried to clamber off Asami's lap, but the bastard held him down tightly. It was not like Kirishima and Suoh did not know what happened in the back of the limo. Or in the penthouse… or Asami's office. Pretty much everywhere, actually. "Kirishima, where did you and your wife get your rings?"

Takaba's head swiveled. He had never seen the four eyed man wearing a wedding band, but he knew that he was married. He could not imagine Kirishima having anything flashy or blingy or remotely interesting. It was probably something standard, like the basic gold band from the Lord of the Rings. Asami must have approved of it, though, if he was inquiring about it. Hope flared in Aki's heart at the thought of getting something simple that he could actually afford.

"Saho had them specially made for us, Asami-sama."

Well damn; there went that idea. The one time Akihito met the pregnant woman, she seemed sweet. Having small bands crafted especially for you made her seem like the other vapid and extravagant socialites who lived below him.

"She understands," Asami huffed.

Again, Akihito wondered why his lover was making such a fuss over a couple of rings. "Then you should marry her!" he snapped. Suoh let out a bark of laughter that he tried valiantly to play off as a cough. Akihito flushed and then remembered who else was in the car. "No offense, Kirishima."

"None taken, Takaba," the secretary also chuckled.

"Let me see it," Asami released the squirming boy who scampered over to the other side of the limo. Out of arm's reach. He watched as Kirishima unclasped a chain from around his neck that seemed invisible under his pressed oxford. Would Asami wear his ring around his neck, too?

Asami held the ring almost reverently in his palm. It was simple, but nothing like he expected. The band was a burnished titanium, almost black––it sparkled like obsidian. The band was rimmed by gleaming strips of light platinum. Light and dark, it embodied the two faces of Kirishima––and Asami, for that matter. Akihito knew immediately that he wanted something like that for Asami. Maybe he should consider a custom made ring…

"Nothing store bought was shiny enough for her," he explained as his boss studied the ring. "Saho likes her diamonds," Krisishima nodded in thanks when Asami finally returned the ring. It was clear that he felt physically uncomfortable being separated from the ring, even if it was Asami holding it while he was in the same car.

"I think she'd wear only diamonds if she could get away with it," muttered Suoh, though his eyes gaze never wavered from the road. It was soft, meant only for Kirishima's ears, but Asami chuckled dryly. The men shared a knowing smirk, and Akihito rolled his eyes. Any respect he had for her quickly dissipated as she proved to be like every other rich woman. So much for not wanting to be trite.

"She always has had excellent taste," Asami agreed. "I'll have to get the number of her jeweler."

"At once, Asami-sama," Kirishima already had his phone to his ear. "Hibiki-san, is Saho available?"

Akihito tuned him out. "Asami, you're being ridiculous. We don't need anything extravagant. I can't even begin to image how much custom rings would cost."

They both looked at Kirishima, who shrugged. "Hibiki, I need to know who my wife's jeweler is."

"She paid for them," Suoh offered. He glanced in the rearview mirror, momentarily meeting Takaba's eyes. He would know. He had been Kei's best man.

Akihito's shoulders sagged in relief. "They couldn't have been that outrageous, then."

"Thank you, Hibiki." Kirishima snapped his phone shut. "Actually, Takaba, Saho makes more than I do. The jeweler's name is Sabiko Hiroshi. He owns a store in Nagoya."

Asami actually looked offended at his employee's statement. "You just got a raise." It figured that Saho would go out of the city to get her rings done. It ensured that less people had access to the man she considered her private jeweler. "Call him when we get to Omotesando, and set up an appointment."

Kirishima nodded. "Of course, Asami-sama. And I appreciate the offer, but you will never beat what Saho brings home."

"I know. I'm paying her to do this damn wedding,"

"We could always elope," Akihito was quick to suggest. Just get it out of the way, and stop Asami from turning into a full-fledged bridezilla.

It was a dream too good to be true. Asami shook his head, and drawled, "Nice try. You're not getting out of it that easily."

Damn. The photographer slumped back in his seat, arms crossed as he pouted. If Asami was being this dramatic about rings, he did not want to witness the drama over tuxes. At least Akihito was pretty sure that he would get to pick whatever kind of cake he wanted.

**VF**

Naturally, Omotesando had nothing Asami liked. The store manager was nearly tripping over himself to show the yakuza every ring in the store, from traditional to gaudy. The photographer saw some things that he liked, but nothing that touched him the way Kirishima's ring did. His thoughts kept drifting back to Sabiko-san, and what he thought Asami's perfect ring would truly look like.

"Asami-sama, Sabiko has an opening this Wednesday at eleven," said Kirishima lowly. Akihito's eyes fixed on his chest, looking for any swaying that might disclose the ring beneath his shirt. Nothing. The shirt was too thick.

"Clear my schedule," the older man replied. They were going to Nagoya. "Nothing here appeals to me."

The manager's face fell. Asami didn't bother to lower his voice. "Akihito, come." He strolled out of the store without waiting for his lover. He knew the boy would be hot on his heels, eager to get away from things that cost more than he made in a month.

"Hey, Asami…" he sad softly. Once more, the throng parted quickly, allowing them to move easily. "I don't want to go with you to see Sabiko."

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. Akihito had an eking suspicion that Asami had them professionally shaped, but the criminal refused to own up to it. "Why not?" his voice was low, but Akihito heard the warning that carefully masked the surprise and hurt.

He flushed, shoving his hands into his pullover's pockets, and stared at his shoes as he walked, thankful he could look somewhere besides at Asami. "Well, thing ring is supposed to be special. And I can tell it's important to you, so I want to do it right. I want for it to be a surprise,"

"Asami–sama, I can arrange to have Saho go with him," the secretary spoke up. "She can help Takaba with his design."

"Yeah," Akihito chimed in. He really did not want some bimbo to help him, but then again, she did create Kirishima's ring. "You can go see Sabiko first, and when I meet with him, he'll already know what mine looks like. That way, we can make sure that the rings coordinate, but we won't ruin the surprise."

Asami mulled it over for a few minutes, and Akihito wondered if he was trying to say no without sounding like a jerk. "It isn't my first preference, but if you want the rings to be a surprise, I suppose that is acceptable."

Relief flooded his system. Asami's hesitance stemmed from his wanting to control every aspect of life, and hating the unknown. He was all for letting Akihito create a ring specifically for him. "Great!" a grin exploded across his face, and there was a slight hop in his step. "This is gonna be awesome! You'll love it, I promise."

Asami ruffled his hair fondly. "I'm glad you are finally starting to get excited about this, brat."

"Quiddit!" Akihito knocked his hand away with a jerk of his shoulder, giggling. "We're in public."

Asami's smirk only grew larger. It threatened to mutate into a full-blown smile if he was not careful. His boy would have to get used to public affection. They were getting married after all. That thought still made his blood churn.

"I'll see you tonight," Akihito rambled on. "Be home by eleven. I'm making nanbanzuke for dinner, and it isn't tasty reheated."

"I'll give you a ride to your photo shoot," Asami protested, though he swore it was something else.

"It's not far," Akihito shook his head. It was a beautiful autumn day, and he did not have time for a round of afternoon sex in the limo. As much as he enjoyed it, he had to be at the studio by one. If Takaba Akihito was anything, he was professional. "Besides, it's only a few blocks away."

The photographer ran away before the crime lord could pull him into the limo, regardless. Asami was not going to ruin another job for him. "See you tonight!" he called over his shoulder.

"Suoh," Asami addressed his chief of security, though his eyes were fixed on his lover's bouncing ass. "Arrange for Akihito to have an open escort. I want it clear that he is not to be touched."

"Yes, Asami-sama," the blonde behemoth bowed before he opened the limo door. "I'll put my best men on it."

"And feed him some low key news story. Something we can control," Asami slid into the car. Now, more than ever, he had to keep Akihito away from his enemies. Pulling out his phone, he punched a familiar number into is as the privacy screen rolled up.

**VF**

**A/N:**

**Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it!**

**The title may change. I haven't fallen in love with it a hundred percent.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

**I own nothing, nor do I ever intend to. I'm just giving life to some fangirl fantasies. **

Chapter Two:

He really should stop judging people by first impressions. He was usually wrong. Asami wasn't just a stone cold, heartless bastard concerned with only money. He had his own honor code that he adhered to strictly. Kirishima was not a wuss in a fight, despite how he looked in glasses. Plus he had a really hot wife. Takato, though blonde, was not a dumb blonde. That was Kou, contrary to his dark hair. Suoh had a sense of humor once you got him away from Asami.

And Kirishima Saho––Urara Saho at work–– was not the airheaded bimbo Akihito first thought she was. She had a knack for asking uncomfortable questions that the photographer had never deigned to think about.

"Suoh will send someone to pick you up when you are finished," Asami straightened his jacket as the limo smoothly meandered through downtown traffic. "Just have Saho text Kirishima."

"Why can't I take the bus?" Akihito tilted his head to the side, hazel eyes meeting gold. "It will be quicker."

"I will not have you wandering the streets at night alone," Asami undid the button on his suit jacket. Akihito had helped him get redressed after a round of limo sex, which is why he was looking worse for the wear. Asami was pristine as ever, but apparently suits were not to be buttoned while sitting.

"How long could it possibly take?" Akihito leaned to the seat, his hands cupping the back of his head nonchalantly. "I am sure you have it all planned out. She just wants me to give it the stamp of approval." It would be a quick meeting, in and out, leaving the rest of his day wide open.

"Actually," Asami smirked as his kitten's face scrunched up. "Saho knows my tastes extraordinarily well. She can make decisions for me. She wants your input today. And every other meeting. You will be planning this wedding with her."

Akihito paled. "No fucking way!" he groaned, his open mouth swinging in tandem with the car's turns. "I don't want to plan anything!"

"Saho is adamant that you participate," the yakuza chuckled dryly. "It is going to be the event of the century."

"It's _your_ wedding!" he protested again. "_Your_ idea. I'm just along for the ride!" No way. No way was he giving up any of his limited free time to plan some stupid ceremony that he would not remember. If he had his way, it would be a quick exchange of vows and some cake.

"It's your wedding too, kitten," drawled Asami. "It is only natural that the bride help plan it…"

"I am not your damn bride!" Akihito shouted, though his cheeks turned a rosy pink. "I am a man, not a woman!"

"Asami-sama," Suoh rolled down the privacy screen. "We are here,"

It was unusual to see someone besides Suoh in the driver's seat. Today, the incredible hulk sat in the passenger's seat, while a nameless goon chauffeured them around. It always freaked Akihito out to see people other than Suoh and Kirishima with Asami. Their protection always seemed more official, more secure than the nameless drones that Asami employed. But, he supposed that even faithful body guards had to have days off. They probably worked on days that Asami did not, come to think about it.

"Be nice to Saho," said crime lord pressed a kiss to the photographer's soft, pink lips. "She can be mean to hissing kittens when they misbehave," it was both a warning and a taunt. Stupid ass.

"I can handle you," Akihito pushed away from Asami's grabby hands. He ducked his head so Asami would not see him blush when the heavy hand squeezed his rump. Hard. "A pregnant lady will be a piece of cake."

Asami chuckled. "Behave, kitten. Kirishima will grouse if Saho complains."

"Yeah, yeah," Akihito waved over his shoulder as Suoh opened the door. If Kirishima was pissy, there was nothing he could do to fix it. Kirishima Saho's office was in the heart of Shinjuku, at the top of one of the countless skyscrapers. Another body guard opened the door and Suoh escorted him inside. Akihito felt like he was being passed off from one handler to another, like some prized show pony. He growled in indignation.

"Takaba Akihito?" a redhead woman greeted him the moment he walked the lobby of the high rise building. She was dressed in tight fitting black skirt with a white, ruffled blouse tucked into her skirt. Suoh arched an eyebrow as she collected him, and Akihito saw two of Asami's goons check out her pert butt when she turned around.

"Hi," he shook her head and startled slightly. She was much stronger than she looked.

"My name is Merav Tayeb. I am Saho's second assistant. She asked me to show you up to our offices."

He nodded. She turned away and did not check to see if he followed her. A nameless goon let out a wolf whistle, and he chuckled. Waving goodbye to Asami over his shoulder, because he knew his crimelord lover was watching, he stepped into the artfully painted elevator.

"Top floor," she crisply addressed the elevator boy. The building had an elevator boy who did nothing but escort people up and down all day. That had to be one of the most boring jobs in the history of the world.

The boy, he looked about fifteen, turned a cherry red and quickly bobbed his head. A moment later, the metal box was rapidly climbing the skyscraper. Merav said nothing until the doors chimed open. "This way, please," she gestured to the marble floored room.

As expected, the entire office was modern, full of stark colors and crisp lines. He walked past the bubbling water feature and the half moon receptionist desk where a tawny haired man with thick rimmed glasses leaned over the shoulder of a rotund, middle aged woman. She flushed when he whispered something in his ear. Dark eyes flicked up to watch Merav strut by. She seemed to know that the man could n take his eyes off of her, and Akihito suddenly appreciated working with all men.

Girls just made things confusing.

"Do you do lots of parties?" Akihito asked, trying to strike up some kind of conversation. Merav was a strange woman, most certainly foreign because her words were laced with a heavy accent. She was dark and bold, something that was not native to Japan.

The entire office was stark: a crisp orange accented by dark browns and whites. It was a minimalist transition into autumn, and he wondered how frequently Kirishima Saho redid her decor. Behind the water feature and pond were accent walls, paintings worth millions, and overpriced but comfy furniture. Akihito already had a dozen images in his mind that would showcase the interior. He would kill to shoot some promotional shots for Urara Saho.

"Yes," she answered. "Up to one hundred a year."

Holy crap. That was a ton. That was two or three a week. He was exhausted after Friday nights going crazy with Kou and Takato. The photographer could not image doing it multiple times a week. His liver could not handle it.

She seemed to sense that he wanted to hear more about the business, and she obliged him. "We do birthday parties, luncheons, grand openings, business parties––anything you can want someone to plan. Saho goes to most of them, especially if it is a repeat client or an event that we have invested substantially in.

"Each event has its own binder, which holds everything that pertains to that event. They are organized by name, and chronological order for repeat clients, like Asami," Merav led the way past the rooms of shelves, her deep voice lilting with an accent. Akihito tried to keep his jaw from dragging on the floor as they walked by. It looked like a freaking library!

"H–how many parties has Asami had?" he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

"He has his own cabinet," the woman shrugged. "Saho has been doing his parties since they met, and that was nine years ago."

She really did know Asami well, then. His fiance was not kidding just to piss him off. The photographer tried not to be jealous that they were obviously close, and that Asami had never mentioned it. Because Aki had friends too––like Takato and Kou. Takato was married, but he never told Asami that. Same thing, right?

"So how do you get away with calling your boss by her first name?" He had to lengthen his stride to keep up with the Amazon. "All of mine frown on that kinda thing,"

"Saho is an intimate person who thrives on familiarity," Merav shrugged. "Also, I am Israeli. We do not speak so formally in my country." She opened a door that was part of a glass wall. Inside was a conference room, with a long, European style table. Instead of having hard, plastic chairs, chaise lounges and sofas surrounded the table. It looked warm and inviting, especially with the panoramic view of Shinjuku.

"Oh." Now he knew why her name was weird.

"Yes, now sit." The redhead pulled out an oversized chair. "Can I get you anything? Food? A drink?"

"No, but thanks," he slowly sat in the plush chair, careful to stay out of her reach. Though Merav had smile politely and kept up the pleasant chitchat, Akihito felt the same powerful tension radiating off her that he associated with Suoh. With the Israeli woman, it was an undercurrent and not an attitude, but Akihito still thought she might suddenly snap his neck.

"Saho will send for food several times," Merav poured him a glass anyway. "She still has the strangest cravings."

"My mom put chocolate on her noodles when she was pregnant with me," he volunteered just to keep the awkward silence at bay. "I remember her saying that my dad used to gripe about it."

"Yesterday, it was deep fried pickles smothered in sour cream."

Ew. Thankfully, he did not lose his lunch and Merav had no obligation to keep him entertained. There was a muffled clacking, like heels on the hard wood, and then the glass doors were opened by a skinny man with tawny hair. He nodded to Merav as the ever pregnant Kirishima Saho bounced it.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said in lieu of a greeting. Sitting a thin binder on the table, she plopped down on the chair beside his. "My ultrasound took longer than expected."

Merav's face lit up, and Akihito knew that she was dying to see the pictures. "It's okay," he shrugged. It was not like he could be upset that she was taking care of her baby. Besides, Asami had cleared his schedule for the entire day. The thin binder gave him hope that he would be out of there in an hour so that he could play video games for the rest of the day.

"Has Ryuichi told you what is going to happen?" she asked as her assistants began to lay books and folders on the table. There seemed to be a definitive order, and as he looked at the increasing thickness of the, Akihito could not help but feel a little worried.

"He said that you wanted my opinion because you know his tastes."

"We are going to plan your dream wedding, kid." Pale, thin fingers opened up his black binder. It was empty, but there were labeled tabs. "This is going to be our life for the time being. It will hold every single thing about your wedding: budget, flowers, seating arrangement, receipts––you name it. It all lives here.

"And this––the official copy––lives with me. You will have your own copy, which is given to you the day after every meetings. You can make your notes and requests in that one, so we can discuss them at our next meeting. Both books will always be completely current that way."

"What if I want something impossible?" It would never happen, the photographer was far too practical for that, but the photographer wanted to know how far he could push her.

"It is my job to make your dreams comet rues," Saho absentmindedly patted his hand. "It will happen."

The line was corny but it rolled out of her mouth so easily that he wondered how often she was asked that. Her clients must have thought themselves unique and fantastically extravagant. She probably got strange demands all the time. Unless he wanted the dead there, or a pumpkin carriage pulled by mice, he would get it. "Cool," because that was the only appropriate response.

"Ryuichi will also receive a copy with the same regularity as you, for him to make any notes." Saho kept talking, "We will meet at least once a week, but we aren't limited to that. I have some clients who want to meet every other day. Any questions so far?"

Nope. Not a one.

"Today is just to give you an idea of how we do things, and to clue me in on what your dream wedding actually is. We can hammer out the specifics as we go along." The woman talked a lot using her hands, he noticed. Every sentence had an accompanying gesture.

Akihito kept nodding. It still was looking like a short meeting. "That sounds good to me."

Saho gave him a bright smile. "So walk me through your dream wedding," she encouraged him. Merav handed her a hot pink tablet case, complete with blinged out tablet pen. Saho flipped it open, and held the soft-nose pen just about the screen, ready to scribe his every whim.

He had to swallow before he could speak. "Well," he curled his hands into fists as he tried to describe something he had never contemplated, let alone plan. "I guess I'll be there. Asami, too. We will exchange vows, and rings. The rings are important to Asami, so we have to have them." He watched Saho make a note of that. Then her pen stilled, poised and ready to record his dreams. "After that, we will eat cake."

Plain and simple, get it done and over with so they could eat.

Saho glanced at her assistants who both shrugged. She tapped the end of her pend against the iPad thoughtfully. "That was a good dry run," she said after a moment. "Let's go though it again, from the top with a little more detail."

"That's all I got,"

"Please say you're kidding," she sighed.

"Nope," the twenty-four year old shook his head. As long as Asami ate a piece of cake, Akihito was good. He would make that bastard like sweets if it was the "last thing he ever did.

"So you don't want a hundred white doves to be released when you walk down the aisle? Or maybe tuxes hand designed by Elie Saab?"

"No! What's so hard for you to understand? It should be a simple, quick and cheap," Akihito cried. "Plus rings and cake!"

A pointy black nail was thrust under his nose. "Don't you ever say cheap to me again," Saho said slowly. "Hibiki," she glanced at the man, "Make a reservation at Guillermo's for eight-thirty and then call Kei. Tell him I lost the bet."

Akihito balked when he realized that the couple had bet on his tastes. A scorching insult was tumbling out from behind his teeth when Saho dropped the tablet pen and collapsed back into the chair. "Oh my God. This is going to be so much harder than I originally thought," she moaned while rubbing her temples. "That asshole played me."

"So you see that side of Asami, too?" Akihito's voice pitched in excitement. He crossed his arms, and tried to quench the annoyance that frothed in his stomach with happiness that someone else saw the yakuza for what he was. The photographer pretended that he did not like being the only one who knew him so well.

"Not Ryuichi, my stupid husband. We made a bet, and he played me like a fool." She too crossed her arms. "Merav, I need something deep friend and covered with chocolate."

The redhead Israeli woman immediately stood. "Do you want anything, Akihito?"

He nodded. "I'll have whatever she is having."

"Good choice," Hibiki grinned. "Can you bring me a salted caramel mocha, beautiful?"

The woman flipped her partner off. "Don't woo me, ass."

"No swearing in front of the baby!" Saho looked between the two of them. As Merav walked out the door, her hips swinging, Saho turned back to Akihito. "It is always such a pleasure to work with these two."

He chuckled. It was better not to mention that she just called her husband an asshole. Apparently, she was the only one exempt from the no swearing rule. "Sorry that I'm not being so helpful. At least, I'm not picky," Akihito shrugged sheepishly.

"Picky is easy," Saho grabbed a thick magazine filled with flower arrangements and flipped through it. "Picky means specific and specific gives me something to deliver. Uncertainty gives me nothing to work with."

He flushed. Oops.

"It's okay, sweetie. We will start simple: when do you want to get married?" she clicked her pen again.

Akihito licked his lips. That was easy, "In the afternoon." That way, he could sleep in. Undoubtedly, Asami would be particularly voracious the nearer the wedding drew, and he would keep Aki up late into the night. If he did not want black bags under his eyes, he needed all the sleep he could get.

The tawny haired man––Hibiki snickered. Saho glared at him, but he did not seem overly concerned. "That's good but I was asking more about a day or a month."

Oh. "Within the year," he looked at the assistant, daring him to laugh again. He was not making this easy, Akihito knew that. But the photographer truly did not know what he wanted. He figured Asami would plan it all, and all he would have to do was show up. Boy was he wrong.

"Sooner or later?" Saho kept pressing him for information.

"Later. My family may take a little while to convince." Especially considering how they did not know about Asami yet.

"I understand completely," Saho made an actual note on the iPad document. "So next spring?"

It was just under a year, but he liked the idea of getting married when the earth was raw as it underwent its rebirth. It would be a fresh start, and it seemed apropos. "Yes."

"Do you know where you want to get married?" the pen scratched on.

"What do you mean? Like, a garden or in the penthouse?" He was quickly learning to be specific when it came to Kirishima Saho. She seemed to ask ambiguous questions but wanted a specific answer. Akihito was not going to let Hibiki laugh at him again.

"Do you want a marriage or an adoption? Gay marriage isn't legal here, so we would have to do it outside of the country for it to be legally binding. Or you could have a commitment ceremony in Japan, and Ryuichi could legally adopt you."

Asami would want both because he was a possessive asshole. On the other hand, Akihito had no idea what he wanted. Not once had he ever thought about it. He was giving up his independence, his family and his––holy fuck! He would be taking Asami's surname.

"Talk to Ryuichi, and get back to me," Saho prattled right through his epiphany. "A lot of the planning hinges around that. We can't choose a ceremony space until you decide, and you know how many people you can invite. Obviously flowers, invitations, and decorations are also dependent on that.

"Another thing to think about is your name," she finally stopped talking to look at him.

"Huh?" Akihito could barely process all that he had heard.

"When the officiate announces you after the ceremony, will you keep Takaba as your name, or adopt Asami? Or will Ryuichi start using Takaba?" At least she laughed a little when she asked the question. Saho was only being polite when she suggested they consider his surname as much as Asami's. It was ludicrous to actually contemplate, and if she had managed to keep a straight face, said photographer would have had a heart attack.

"He'll never––" he could not even finish the sentence.

Saho shrugged. "It is my job to make you consider all possibilities," she quipped. "No matter how ridiculous they sound."

"Like the bastard would ever consider taking my name," Akihito laughed uncomfortably. Takaba Ryuichi sounded like a mild mannered office clerk who sucked at golf on the weekends. Not a good image to conjure while controlling the East Asia underworld.

"It was just a suggestion," Saho said breezily. "No swearing in front of the baby. Do you want there to be a theme to your wedding? Hibiki," she cut him off before Akihito could answer. "Go see how far away Sabiko is. And get us some hot white tea with some cumin. It's Sabiko's favorite drink," she said to Akihito.

He pouted goodnaturedly as Hibiki quickly left to do her bidding. "You said no to the cheap theme."

"Cheap isn't a theme, it is a mark of bad taste," Saho pursed her lips. Apparently, hormonal pregnant ladies did not get jokes. "You can have sophistication at any budget."

His mouth dropped. Budget: a familiar and comforting word. It gave him hope again for the wedding. Maybe he could reign Asami in, and not have all this frivolous spendi––

"You do not have a budget, so there is no need to worry about cheap." Once again, Kirishima's wife shattered his dreams.

"I don't want to waste millions of yen on a wedding," the protest was feeble. Rich people never seemed to care about overspending.

"Oh, don't worry. I am not spending one yen more than I have to." People did no stay rich by foolish spending. "Just think of it as economy stimulation. You are going to help many people make their monthly and yearly sales goals, if nothing else."

"That is what I'm worried about," he grumbled.

"Don't be. Now, we will discuss tuxes, or whatever you are wearing after we pick a venue. And a country.

"You will have some homework: start brainstorming what kind of food you want. A buffet? A sit down dinner? What food s will be served? I don't need a definitive list any time soon, but just be thinking about it."

"Ramen," Aki pointed to her iPadiPad. "Write that down." He was adamant about that. "There will definitely be ramen. And pocky and ice cream. Oooh! And beer. Asami will want brandy, too."

Saho was nodding as she scribbled. "We should have started with food. You know some of what you want there."

He flushed and an impish grin danced across his cheeks. "What can I say? I liked to eat."

Saho winked. "I know what you mean. Now more than ever," she rubbed her belly.

Akihito chuckled. "When are you due?"

"In six weeks, so it won't interfere with your big day," she sighed.

"I didn't mean––" he stuttered.

The woman giggled. "I know. Honestly, she can't get here soon enough. I feel like a blimp, all stretched out and swollen."

"Saho," Hibiki poked his head in the door. "Your tea is almost finished brewing, and Sabiko has arrived."

"I really would rather it be my food. Find Merav," she muttered. "I suppose he in an acceptable second. Send him in."

"You don't send me anywhere, darling," a short man with a glowing bald spot pushed his way past Hibiki. "I arrive," he gestured grandly. The flamboyant man embraced Saho before kissing both of her cheeks and then grabbing her belly. "How are both of my girls?"

"We're doing well. She's almost here, thankfully. This is Takaba Akihito," she gestured to Akihito.

"Don't get up on my behalf," Sabiko pushed Saho back into her chair before embracing Akihito in the same familiar way. "Your fiance spoke very highly of you," he told Akihito.

He flushed. He was pretty sure that whatever Asami had said, it was not as flattering as Sabiko Hiroshi made it sound like. It was probably something possessive that would have made his blood boil. "Huh," he grunted.

"We designed you a lovely ring, Takaba-kun. One of my personal favorites, I must say." Akihito saw Saho roll her eyes, and he realized that the saccharine fat man must say that to all of his customers. "I understand that you want your rings to be part of a matched set."

"Yes," he nodded. "Not matchy matchy, but…" Akihito struggled to find the words.

"Coordinated," Saho supplied.

"Excellent," Sabiko nodded to Saho who looked like she was going to start taking more notes. "Tell me about some of the elements that you want to incorporate into Asami-san's ring. What is the story you are trying to tell?"

Saho smirked. She probably thought he was as clueless about the ring as he was the rest of the wedding. He certainly was not going to tell their story in their wedding bands. Though it was a good story, its tumultuous beginning was not something either wanted to relive every time they looked at their rings. Akihito preferred to tell who Asami Ryuichi was through his wedding band. And he did just that.

**A/N:**

**Sorry it took so long to update. I work full time, and am studying for the GMAT. I have almost no free time. I hope you all enjoyed it, and I could not resist making you wait for the ring descriptions. There is going to be a bigger reveal for them!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

So maybe planning a wedding wasn't going to be as terrible as he imagined. Yes, he was going to have to announce to the world that he was officially with the crime lord, that somewhere along the way, his scrupulous morals had blurred until right and wrong was no longer black and white, but a hazy gray. The world would mock him undoubtedly, where was his character and backbone in the face of monogamy? But he wanted to be with Asami Ryuichi, enough to stand against the critics.

And his parents––if Akihito ever got around to telling them about his fiancé.

Akihito slowly stirred the hot pot, letting his thoughts wander. Saho wasn't too bad, certainly not as stuffy as Kirishima. She laughed a lot, ate even more, but asked entirely too many questions. How was he supposed to know about wedding parties, tuxedo cuts––or did they want more traditional garb? And of course, how many people to invite, and how. All with no pressure, of course. Never any pressure. Saho kept reassuring him that everything was tentative, just to get his ideas flowing. There were boutonnières, guest lists, favors, and location, location, location. That was imperative, apparently.

He needed to consult Asami, too. The photographer had no idea what his tastes were for something like a wedding, but he had a sinking feeling it fell along the lines of the bigger, the better. That was the complete opposite of Akihito's preference.

"You look like you are in deep thought," Asami's drawl sliced through the contemplative silence. "Are you thinking of me, kitten?"

"Gah!" he jumped a foot into the air. The plastic ladle clattered on the granite countertop. He whirled around, brandishing the spoon like a sword. "Don't scare me like that! I could have knocked the pot off the stove!"

Asami's eyes glinted as he loosened his tie. "Then I would have a dirty lover to punish for making a mess." There was a half smirk on his face, and apprehension slicked Akihito's palm. Asami looked like he was going to make a mess, and then blame Akihito.

"Don't you even think about it," snapped the boy. "I don't want third degree burns all over me." That stopped the crime lord in his tracks, so he went back to cooking. Asami had obviously not considered the temperature of the food in his fiendish plans.

"How was your day?" Asami kissed the side of his neck, arms slipping easily around his waist.

Akihito arched his neck, exposing it for Asami to feast on. "Good," he groaned lowly. "Just wedding stuff."

Asami pressed against his supple butt. Recently, nothing got him as hard as wedding talk. "How was your trip to Saho's? Did you meet with Sabiko?"

Akihito glanced at the surprisingly thick binder sitting on the kitchen table. There were so many empty tabs, it was ridiculous. He could not begin to fathom how thick it would be by the time the wedding was all planned.

Asami noticed his gaze. "Saho is quite…thorough," he too thought it was needlessly full with dividers and subcategories. "You will get used to it. It's one of her many qualities that make her the best. No detail is too small, and nothing is left to chance."

Akihito was afraid of that. It was going to be a long and exhausting year if she wanted to talk about every single detail. He really did not care what color ribbon they used on the napkins. This wedding was shaping up to be a terrible idea. He could always convince Asami to elope, but for that he was going to need some sexual persuasion via another sexy ambush…

"Akihito," Asami's voice was suddenly solemn. "A situation has arisen in Kiev. I'll be away for a few days."

His blood curdled in his veins. He instantly stilled, and had to swallow to find his voice. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing to worry about," Asami bit the shell of his ear. "Some factory workers are on strike, and production has halted. There isn't a story for a criminal investigator."

"You idiot," Akihito resumed his cooking. "I wasn't thinking about a story." Factory workers on strike sounded tame, nothing that would involve guns or life-threatening negotiations. Unless Asami threatened to shoot himself out of boredom. Hopefully the Ukrainians were not unionized. There was no need to worry about his safety; something Akihito would gladly trade three days and a couple million yen for any day.

Asami chuckled. "Were you worried about me, kitten?"

A moan reverberated, deep in his throat, as Asami licked the length of his neck. "Always." It was a breathy utterance, more of an exhale than an actual word, but Asami understood it.

The hot pot sloshed out and the spoon slid across the wooden floor when the crime lord spun him around. Akihito surrendered willingly, letting Asami plunder his mouth. Strong tongues danced, dueling like sabers, twisting and turning to stroke sensitive spots. "Asami…" Akihito groaned.

Calloused hands lid up his chest. Thumbs circled around his sunset colored nipples, teasing and tantalizing. The photographer thrust his chest into those tortuous hands, desperate for friction. He shoved his own hands into Asami's pants, which was a tight squeeze because he never undid the man's belt. He stroked what he could reach of the man's penis, finger pads ghosting over delicate flesh. Maybe the teasing would drive Asami crazy, too, and he would finally touch Akihito.

Chuckling at the photographer's whine, he pulled away to unclasp his belt buckle. "Teasing isn't nice, Akihito."

Full lips pouted. "You should look in the mirror, then. You started it."

Asami bit his lip when Akihito's hands enclosed around the hard organ. It was dry, so he kept his hold light as he stroked up and down. He peppered kisses over the expensive shirt, wanting to show his lover some attention. Asami was going to be gone for a few days, and no matter what he claimed in the heat of an argument, Akihito would miss him.

Large hands grabbed his ass, and kneaded the round loaves like bread. The squeezes were hard, but the hot pain was delicious. His head dropped back and eyes fluttered shut as he let out a slutty moan. In reward, Asami squeezed harder.

Akihito's hands stilled. Pushing up on his tiptoes, he kissed the fixer hard. They were moaning, and panting, chests heaving and hearts hammering. The world suddenly spun, and his feet were swept out from under him when Asami picked him up, bridal style. The crime lord had the presence of mind to turn off the stove. Dinner could wait––it usually did.

The photographer giggled, feeling silly and girly, but he liked Asami throwing him unceremoniously on the bed. The wind was knocked out of him, so he was quite compliant when Asami pulled his pants off, not even bothering to unzip them. His take-charge attitude was always a huge turn on. When he started to kiss his way up Akihito's leg, the photographer groaned, and shifted his legs.

Asami licked his lips. His boy was practically screaming 'Easy Access'. He must have been feeling horny today. That explained why he was wearing the jeans that were as revealing as ass-less chaps. He had not had those on when he went to the meeting with the jeweler. He wanted Asami to fuck him hard; those pants always screwed with his mind.

"Aah!" the boy gasped when Asami gently blew on the shiny, erect cock. The dripping organ was burning hot, and the unexpected cold made him writhe. "N…no teas…ing…" he cried between moans.

Asami never listened to his petitions. He shoved his fingers into Akihito's wet mouth while he lazily licked the pink mushroom head. His boy was moaning so voraciously that he could barely suck on his fingers. Asami pulled away. "Suck on them, kitten. It's going to be the only lubrication you get tonight," he warned before swallowing the entire dick with one drawn out suck.

Akihito halfheartedly lapped at his fingers. He tried to concentrate, trying to imagine that the bent fingers were his lover's dick as it slid down his throat. Those fingers deserved the same attention as that glorious cock that split him open, but every time he thought about Asami's cock, he went slack jawed. He needed that fat rod inside of him like he needed oxygen. Urgently and immediately.

Akihito's hands threaded through dark hair, locking Asami in place. The man did not even seem to notice, even when Akihito's hips started bucking, shoving his dick deep into that talented mouth. Asami kept at his slow, leisurely pace, indulging in his body the way one did with ice cream.

"Athammiiii…" he cried, his tongue dancing around the thick fingers.

The crime lord ripped his fingers from the boy's mouth, and while one hand lifted his ass off the bed, spit slicked fingers slipped into him. Akihito screamed, on the verge of an orgasm. He could feel his toes tingling, and the knot in his stomach was white hot. If his damned lover would suck just a little bit harder, if he would finger fuck Aki just a tiny bit deeper, he would come.

But Asami knew, and kept his touches and licks light.

"Asami!" the boy shouted in frustration.

"You lewd kitten," the fixer teased. "So desperate to be fucked, and we haven't even taken off our clothes yet."

That did it. He was never one for self-restraint, but whatever self control he had snapped. Quicker than lightning, the photographer was on his knees. Asami's eyes widened at the quick movement, but Akihito did not care. Grabbing the silk shirt, he pulled as hard as he could. Buttons exploded off Asami's chest like fireworks, the debris raining around the room. Some even hit Akihito, but he did not notice. Shoving the shirt half way down Asami's arms, he demanded, "Get your pants off. Now!"

He let the man undress himself, and tried to shimmy out of his cotton tee. He was in too much of a hurry, though, and got stuck with his arms leashed over his head. He heard the metal belt buckle clack on the floor. He was pushed back before he could speak, and his legs were spread by an iron grip.

Asami thrust home, and though he was locked in restraints of his own making, Akihito was delirious with pleasure. He clenched his anal muscles tightly as if trying to keep Asami trapped in him. If they could stay joined like that forever, Akihito would die of happiness.

Asami grunted at the tight suction. He pulled back hard, nearly slipping out of the wet channel all together. He paused a moment, watching his lover struggle and buck, willing to do anything to be fucked. Then, he thrust back in to the hilt. The boy's hips moved pliantly, greedily taking in everything Asami offered.

Akihito's moans were driving him crazy. He made such beautiful faces when lost in venereal pleasure. Asami loved to watch, knowing only he could make the boy feel this way. It was heady and humbling.

With a ferocious snarl, Asami grabbed the cheap shirt. It ripped in two, and still clung to his arms, but at least he could see that gorgeous face. Light hazel eyes opened, focusing on Asami's animalistic sneer. He came. Thick ropes of pearls arched in the dark. It splattered all over the man's chest. Not that he cared; Akihito marked him, as he marked the boy. Asami fucked him through the gut-wrenching orgasm and kept a steady pace until Akihito was hard again.

"No!" Akihito shook his head back and forth as he writhed. Not again. Not so soon.

"Yes," Asami growled. Spitting on his hand, he took the photographer's sensitive dick, jerking upwards in sync with his thrusts. Akihito rammed into Asami's hand in tandem, accepting the deep fuck Asami was pounding into him.

He came with a ragged cry, and he finally relaxed when he felt a liquid heat shoot far into him. Asami's chest was heaving, as he tried to catch his breath. He still had several more rounds to go with his lithe lover.

"You bastard," wheezed Akihito. He had one arm thrown haphazardly over his eyes, as he lay spent on the bed. "You ruined my shirt."

"Turnabout is fair play," the crime lord chuckled. The bed dipped when he lay next to his beautiful Akihito. "You ruined mine first."

The photographer looked pleased with himself. "I guess I did."

His smugness was entirely too sexy, and Asami just had to steal an ardent kiss.

"Asami!" Akihito giggled delightedly before he pushed his lover away. "Dinner first, and then more sex."

The feared crime lord actually pouted. "Only if we eat naked."

The boy's mouth dropped. He looked stunned that anyone would suggest eating hot pot in the nude, and his refusal was on the tip of his tongue, when his stomach rumbled so loudly that Russia could hear it. He quickly acquiesced.

*****HB*****

"Asami?" he whispered several hours later. It was dark as they lay in bed after rigorous lovemaking. The white noise of Tokyo was soothing, and he could feel himself slipping into a deep sleep. "Be safe, okay? I want you to come home to me."

Asami tenderly kissed his forehead. "I promise."

***HB***

The wedding talk stopped as soon as Asami left the country. He was the steam for the wedding engine, and without him to fuel the train, Akihito was content to let Saho have her way. She made suggestions, but when she liked something, she would smile and flip her hair. If she liked it, Asami would like it, and that was good enough for Akihito.

His lover was not supposed to have been gone this long. Three days stretched into five days, and then a week. Then two. When Kirishima was called to Kiev, Akihito knew it was serious. Typically, Kirishima stayed in Japan to oversee the business if Asami had to travel. The entire entourage only traveled together under the most dire of circumstances. Like Hong Kong. For Kirishima to leave, especially with the baby being due so soon, something major was going down. And Akihito was going to kill Asami for lying to him.

There were no more phone calls. No more distractions. He had received a text fours days ago that they were all right, but that there could be no communication. Saho received a similar text from Kirishima that nearly sent her into early labor. She had screamed and ranted, and then threw her phone at the wall. It shattered into a million microchips, but she did not care. It certainly made Akihito jump. And here he thought Asami was the violent one.

Hibiki said no news was good news. Then Saho threatened to fire him and made Merav cancel all of her appointments for two days. She wanted to eat ice cream and pickles while scouring the internet for any information. The photographer by now had her cell number (Merav had quickly run to get her a new one), and was badgering her for information. Tokyo was unusually quiet, especially with the top dog away. That made him even edgier.

"What's going on?" he demanded his voice low. He glanced at the models clustered on the other side of the room, getting final touches put on their hair and make up. "You have to know something by now."

"I don't!" he heard her run her fingers over her head. "There is nothing on here. Even those pinko bastards haven't moved. I can't even find a mention of the factory."

"That jerk," Akihito hissed. "He must have lied about the factory." Of course, it made perfect sense. He distracted the photographer with sex, food, and then more sex. By the time he got around to thinking about Asami's business trip, he had accepted the lie: it was going to be calm and boring.

"Oh-hoh, he better not have," Saho snorted. "I'll rip off his balls if he did." Kei knew better than to lie to her. She always found out.

She must have been talking about her husband. Hopefully, she was smart enough to know not to cross Asami Ryuichi. Akihito suspected that he would be very protective of the family jewels, especially considering how sensitive they were. They were the perfect crown to a magnificent cock. "Yeah," he grunted, not really sure what to say to that.

"I am going to keep looking. I'll let you know when I find anything out," she promised.

"Okay, thanks."

The phone clicked off. It was kind of nice, having another wife to worry with. Before when Asami took trips, Akihito would drown himself in alcohol and video games, numbing the fear until Asami came home. Kou always believed the excuse of guy time, so it was easy to convince him to help Akihito self-medicate. Now that he knew Saho lived just a floor below him, and was more than willing to ponder over every possible scenario, he found an ally. Worrying and misery always liked company.

That had been hours ago. Saho had gone off the grid. She did not answer her phone, or texts. Akihito tried emailing her, but had gotten no response. When he called the office, Merav had answered. She informed him rigidly that Saho had an appointment with the Minister of Transport that could not be rescheduled, and that it was high time for her to return to work. The Israeli woman did not allow moping about, it seemed.

"We know nothing, and Saho cannot be disturbed during this meeting. We can pencil you in tomorrow for half an hour, if you would like."

Damn, she was militant. She even ordered her boss around. "Sure," but he was desperate, and would take whatever help he could get. "What time?"

"Four-thirty tomorrow," she answered. "It will be a short meeting, so be ready to work quickly."

Akihito was fairly confident that no work would be done. They would spend the minutes hunched over an iPad, scouring the internet for news and postulating what might have happened. He could easily do that all day, every day until Asami came home. It was stupid to plan a wedding that might not even happen. Nevertheless, he lied to the waiting assistant. "Okie dokie," he tried to keep his voice light.

She snorted. "You are a terrible liar, Akihito. See you tomorrow."

So she knew he was lying. He briefly wondered if his appointment was all a ruse, as if the woman was moving in secret. In a spy movie, there would have been goons sitting in her waiting room, trying to overhear Saho's schedule. Merav could have been protecting him, by making it seem like just another appointment. Akihito laughed. He was being ridiculous. There were no villains, no nefarious plots in the Tokyo underworld. Merav was a business woman, who needed to have her boss actually in her business, running it.

Pulling his laptop across the table, he pushed it open. The bright screen flared to life, almost blinding him in the darkening apartment. He was an investigative journalist. He did not have to rely on some housewife for information about his own lover! He could do it himself, and tomorrow, at the meeting, be the one to give Saho some good news. He probably even had access to sources Saho never dreamed of. Oh yeah, he smirked, feeling more confident than he had in two weeks. This was going to be a piece of cake.

•••**HB•••**

Or maybe not. Saho was not kidding. There was nothing on the internet. Zip. Zilch. Nada. It was as if Asami had completely fallen off the grid all together. Even after acquiring a list of all factories in Kiev (which there were fewer than he was expecting), and cross-referencing the owners against Asami's name and aliases, he still had nothing. He was forced to admit that maybe the factory Asami was talking about did not exist.

Nearly six hours of searching and four beers later, he was just as clueless as before. He slumped back, arms dangling at his sides, numb from blood loss. Fuck! Curse his stupid lover for being entirely too smart with his business, thus making it impossible for him to be tracked. Even after admitting that he was going to worry, Asami still jerked him around. Fuck, he was so furious that he considered grabbing a change of clothes and crashing at Kou's for the next month. That would show the bastard.

A knock on the door made him jump. Wincing as the chair legs screeched, he trotted to the door. He could make out a familiar face through the peephole. Hibiki.

"Hey man," Akihito shrugged. "What's up?"

"I am making a delivery for Saho," the assistant answered.

"What?" Akihito yelped. "Come in. Quick." It must be news, something about Asami and Kirishima. Maybe she had found the factory. They certainly weren't dead. That would have warranted a personal visit, or at least a phone call.

"No, thank you," the man declined with a shake of his head. "I am not staying. She just wanted you to look over wedding invitations."

"Huh?" That made no sense. What happened to no pressure, and we can't decide anything else until we pick a venue? Now she was making him do invitations, instead of leading the manhunt for his lost lover.

Hibiki handed him a thin envelope. Just one, and it was already sealed. Apparently, she was not giving him much of a choice. "Goodnight, Akihito-kun," Hibiki said with a bow, before disappearing down the hallway. Asami was the only one who lived on this floor, so it was a short walk. The photographer waited until the elevator doors slid shut before he went back inside.

Closing the door, he made sure it was locked. Just because Asami owned the building did not mean he could be stupid. Flipping the envelope over, he read the front. It was all in swirling calligraphy, so pretty that he was sure it came from a machine. Name. Address of Invitee. Flowers and decoration on the envelope. It was an official wedding invite. But when he turned it over, he saw it was sealed, with Saho's name written over it. Proof that no one had opened it.

Pulse fluttering and lips dry, he hooked one finger under the delicate paper. The message was succinct. Phones compromised. Boys coming home in two days. Don't be late for the meeting.

Oh God. They were safe. Asami was safe. Whatever happened, it was over. He knew he should be frightened. Something was wrong enough for Saho to move silently, making sure that no one could hear anything. She even suspected that the apartments and the office were bugged, and the phones tapped. He would freak out in the morning. Now, Asami was coming home, and that was enough.

With a smile, he flipped open his wedding binder. He would do his part for the charade, to make it appear like life carried on as normal. He would have questions for Saho.

Maybe someone had been in her reception area, after all.

*****HB*****

**A/N: **

**Sorry it took so long to update! This was not how I intended the chapter to go at all. I would get a couple thousand words out, and then scrap the entire thing. There is going to be some angst and drama in the story, just because I like to write it. I can't help myself.**

**Thanks to the wonderful Miyanoai, who fixed my crazy typos, wrong words, and confusing sentences! I have no idea why I typed birds.**

**Huge shout out to SageSepis! That is exactly where I got the name. I love Greek mythology. For some reason, it resonates with me.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

**As always, many many thanks to the wonderful Miyanaoi. Though swamped, she came through for me time and time again! Fingers crossed that you ace all of your finals! **

*****HB*****

Chapter Four:

Acting casual was the key. It needed to look like any other appointment, or so he justified the box of bagels tucked under his arm. Saho was always ravenous, so bribing her with food made the appointment more enjoyable. She could not yell if she was stuffing her face with carby goodness.

The doorman and the elevator boy both recognized Akihito by now. They nodded politely, but did not speak. Saho's business was on the top floor of the skyscraper, but there were dozens of businesses beneath it. How they recognized him so quickly seemed impossible. Then again, it was their job to keep track of who came and went.

Koyanagi Moe was the first to actually speak to him. "Welcome back, Takaba-san."

"I've brought treats," the photographer held up the breadbox.

"You spoil us," Koyanagi batted her eyelashes. She was the plump receptionist that Akihito saw during his first visit. She was a hopeless flirt, and batted her eyes at any male that walked through the door. Akihito saw her pinch Hibiki's butt a couple of times; the assistant always jumped and while flattered, reminded her that Saho prohibited sexual conduct at work. And no one wanted the favored receptionist to get fired, the man would say with a saucy wink. Personally, Akihito thought the real reason Hibiki had not complained was because Merav would bristle if she walked by the secretary flirting with him. He seemed to crave Merav's attention.

"I can put that with the others, if you would like," said secretary offered as she pushed her rolling chair away from the desk. "Or in your conference room."

With the others? His eyes narrowed. Other clients were bribing her with food too, trying to pump her for information and get on her good side. Dammit. He needed her hungry so she would be more forthcoming with details about Asami's stupid ass. "I'll just hold on to them, Koyanagi-san," he tried to grin as he walked to his favorite chair. "I don't mind." That way, he could ensure that the woman would not filch a bagel or two. And he certainly did not buy them for her.

He was early, and the antsy boy knew it. So he sat quietly in reception, knees bouncing as he thought up all the ways the phones could have been compromised. There was no one in the office that looked fishy: no men in black with earpieces or a guy in a trench coat with sunglasses. He glanced up at Koyanagi. She would chat anyone up, and did not seem too concerned with the privacy of the clients. Maybe she was the leak.

Akihito thumbed through his binder. Most of his questions were moot, but he was trying to play the part. Finally, Hibiki came to get him. "This way, please."

The photographer hurried after him, barely remembering to grab the bagels. Can't lose the bribe money.

"Your appointment was not until 4:30," the thin man stated calmly.

"Yeah, I know," Akihito flushed. "I was so stir-crazy that I couldn't sit still. Being here seemed to calm me down."

"Did Merav not go over the rules with you?" Hibiki stopped in front of a large, windowless door. Akihito nearly face planted into it, but no big deal.

"Uhh…" No? Because why would there be rules? Asami made him show up the first time, and desperation drug him here today. Duh.

"You are to arrive no more than fifteen minutes before your appointment," the assistant crisply informed him. "You do not speak to any other patrons, and they will not speak to you. You do not discuss anything that happens in the office with anyone. And you do not tell people that you are coming here."

Well, that was unexpected. Not that he intended to chat up any of the celebrities that might pass him by. Or brag to his coworkers that he was marrying Japan's biggest crime lord. Some things were personal.

"We cater to an exclusive clientele, of which you now are a part of. They, too, enjoy their privacy," Hibiki reminded him. It was almost like he could read Akihito's mind, and that was unsettling.

"Okay," he nodded dumbly as he shrugged. Anytime he came to see Saho, he kept his head low and avoided eye contact. He had friends who snooped on celebrities––paparazzi and entertainment journalists––and the last thing he needed was someone asking why he made weekly visits to a ritzy event planner.

Hibiki nodded once. "Saho will see you now," and he opened the door.

Akihito had never seen the inside of Saho's office, and it must have been top secret because Hibiki quickly closed the door. The lock clicked shut loudly.

"Ooh, bagels!" Saho squealed from behind her desk when she looked up from a thick day planner. Where Asami's was large and powerful, Saho's took up most of the back wall, but was thin and sleek. He could actually see the obsidian wood, instead of mountains of papers that littered his lover's. It was thin, like a dinner table, showing her legs and was sparsely covered. There were wedding pictures, several computers and her open planner, stuffed with papers. "Gimme!"

Oh yeah. Bribery was a good idea. The woman liberally smeared cream cheese over her toasted bagel while Akihito sat across from her. "Thanks, love," she grinned.

"So what happened to cause all of the secrecy?" he asked. If she wasn't going to bother with pleasantries, neither was he. There was a reason he was in the seemingly super secret office, and why the doors were locked. Akihito saw a woman in a headscarf and big sunglasses leaving some twenty minutes before, surrounded by bodyguards, and he knew Merav was meeting with another client. Even Koyanagi's chipperness seemed forced.

"Oh," Saho sucked the cream cheese off of her thumb and index finger. "We had a couple of paparazzi break into the office. They were looking for client information. Don't worry," she said quickly whenever Akihito's mouth dropped. "They didn't get anything important. But they did manage to tap the phones and get some client info on Akutsui Rangiku."

"The heiress?" She was famous for being famous, or maybe for being rich. She liked to wear skimpy outfits and call herself a fashion designer.

"I'm doing the launch party for her fall line," Saho shrugged. "Journalists snoop around here all the time, looking for anything they can get their hands on."

He knew that very well. Maruyama Aoi was a good friend of Mitarai's, and was an unscrupulous jerk that would do anything for a story. Even lie to the public. Mangakas published more truth than he did. Akihito swallowed the lump in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. "Did they get anything on Asami?"

"No," she pushed away from the desk. Another rolly chair. "Certain things––" which meant important, secret things, "––I take home with me. Or I put them in my safe. Anything about Ryuichi is kept under lock and key."

"But Merav said you have a whole bookshelf for me," he protested, remembering the labyrinthine archives. He knew that he should take what she said at face value, but the investigator in him pushed to know the full truth. No holes in the story, no missing information and Asami absolutely had to be protected. He brought bagels, dammit. He could afford to pry!

"I do," she pulled Akihito's new binder out of the safe behind a painting. So cliché it hurt. "In my home office. The decoys are kept here."

He accepted the proffered binder with a nod. "That seems like an awful lot of work for some parties."

"Excessively so," agreed Saho. "It's all about asset protection, Akihito. What protects you protects Ryuichi. And protecting Ryuichi keeps Kei out of the line of fire. Plain and simple."

It all came down to protecting her family, he realized. And Saho seemed to be two steps ahead of everyone else. "And Ukraine?" He moved on, trusting her to take the necessary precautions. Akihito was not sure if he wanted to know. Out of the country was out of their control and being able to only react was tortuous.

"The strike was real. Ryuichi was a silent partner in the plant. A local named Alexandre Omisky was at the helm of the project."

"You say was," Akihito looked at the door as Hibiki opened it, discreetly setting the tea tray on the desk between them, and then withdrawing, as susurrate as when he came.

"Yes. Lock the door on your way out," Saho called to her assistant. "Ryuichi no longer has any control over the plant."

"Did Omisky cheat him out of his half?" Akihito stumbled over the awkward name. He squished the rising anger that Asami might not get his due, that someone dared cheat his lover.

"No. Omisky's dead," she added honey to her piping hot mug. "He owed millions to a man named Nikolai Pushkin. And Pushkin took the factory as recompense."

"That's why they were gone so long," he quickly filled the blanks in. "Asami was negotiating with Pushkin? Did he get bought out?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Saho nearly simpered at his naivety.

Akihito was not satisfied. Stormy eyes scintillated as she waited for him to piece it all together. "That does not explain why Asami cut off all contact." He was still miffed at the succinct text, and ire masked terror. Reticence was unyielding, and he could only wonder what caused the radio silence.

"You have to understand, Akihito, that the world at large does not know of your existence. Of how beloved you are by Ryuichi, that is. People, Lui Feilong for example, will try to use you against him if given the chance. It was safer for us all if they had no contact."

Hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How do you know all of this?" Kirishima could not have contacted his wife without Asami's knowledge. And if the crime lord allowed his subordinate a phone call, but did not make one himself, there would be hell to pay. Akihito would sleep in his room for a month!

"Mischa and I go back," Saho looked almost feral as her gray eyes flashed. "He is giving Ryuichi asylum and ferrying him home."

"Mischa? You mean Mikhail Arbatov, don't you?" Who did this woman not know, and how was she so comfortable with all the criminals of Asia? It was starting to get ridiculous. Maybe they all kidnapped her, too, and passed her around like a peace pipe. That would certainly be another bonding point between them.

"Yes." The Arbatovs were in a pseudo civil war with Pushkin and his men. Russia and Eastern Europe were a trembling blood bath, with governments and civilians choosing sides. Thus far, Asami had been able to stay neutral in the conflict, and Pushkin saw that as siding with the Arbatovs. A purloined plant, no matter how insignificant, was a slight that could not be ignored. To save face, Asami would have to throw his support behind Mikhail, or collect a pound of flesh from Pushkin. That was not forthcoming in the imminent future, and doing nothing was absurd.

For a man of Asami Ryuichi's caliber, revenge was mandatory.

*****HB*****

Fortunately, they did not discuss the wedding. Saho explained more about Asami's world: how there were certain expectations of powerful men, how Asami's sudden withdrawal truly protected Akihito, and that Arbatov could possible hold the men for a few days until they ceded to his demands. Honor dictated that they give Mikhail a prize in gratitude before the alliance was sealed in blood.

Blood, honor and money. These were the codes of all men, and the traditional crime lords, who reveled in their power like adored kings, acted on them. It still boggled Akihito's mind. After all this time, he was still learning about Asami, and a world that felt like a seventies' kung-fu flick.

He was looking up Nikolai Pushkin. The man seemed to be the standard mobster. He was accused of human trafficking to the United States, where he had brothels and strip clubs up and down the west coast. Akihito could extrapolate, though, and assumed Pushkin smuggled drugs and weapons along with people. Legally, he bought and sold art, and invested heavily in nuclear power. That was contrary to Asami, who dabbled in renewable energy.

One thing was clear: Pushkin was a fearsome man, as dangerous as a rabid bear and just as powerful. He was brave or stupid to challenge Asami in a power play, but he was also an established kingpin in Russia. If someone could cripple Asami's regime, it was Pushkin.

Asami…It had been so long since he had last seen his lover, touched him and embraced him. Just thinking about Asami made his heart race and his blood run thick. His skin heated up as he imagined how fantastic it would feel to have the crime lord back in his arms…

The front door clicked open, and he heard shoes shuffling in the genkan before…silence. Asami moved as loudly as a shadow. The lithe photographer leaned back into his chair, fingers combing his hair out of his face. He would want to be presentable for his stunning man.

"Akihito," he could hear that deep voice perfectly. It was ingrained deep into his psyche, and was one of the best sounds Asami could ever make.

Strong hands gripped his shoulder; fingers, calloused by pens and guns, delightfully dug into the taught flesh. For a moment, they stayed still, relishing in the closeness. Then, Asami's fingers started to move. Akihito moaned loudly, the powerful fingers working through the knots. Electric jolts sparked all over his body, releasing tensions he did not know he carried.

"Oohh…As-samiiii," the boy groaned loudly. Those large hands slid down his arms as his lover pressed tender kisses on his red shoulder. His jeans were painfully tight, and every wiggle of his hips stirred his constricted cock. He was more than ready, nearly desperate. At this rate, he would not make it one round. "Oh please, Asami," he exhaled lowly.

He could practically hear the bastard's triumphant smirk. The sound of his tenacious lover begging was music to his ears. He slid between the photographer's spread legs. Dark denim was tugged off jutting hips, until his cock sprung out lively, the tip glistening with pearly precum. Thin fingers stroked up and down, teasing his balls before ghosting the over the pink tip. Asami had a signature way of sucking Aki off.

He would run this flat tongue on the underside of his boy's cock, getting it nice and wet. Then he would massage those dark balls, rubbing them as he sucked Akihito down into his throat.

His hips would buck wildly––did buck wildly––trying to thrust as far as he could into Asami. The fixer chuckled when Akihito's mouth formed an 'O'. A desperate keen formed somewhere near his voice box. He was always incoherent by this point.

Still sucking harder than a Dyson vacuum, his tongue swirling near the base of his cock, Asami took two fingers, slicked with the boy's own juices. He pinched and pulled and twisted Akihito's nipples. Small fingers fisted into dark hair, sliding through gel and locking the man in place. His nipples throbbed in sync with his pulsating blood, flaring up like a match. The pain was intoxicating, making his cock strain and swell inside of the fixer's talented mouth.

When Akihito could take it no more––when he was so close to coming that he could almost see it––Asami pulled back. Grinning savagely, he blew oh so softly on the aching cock centimeters away from his face. The photographer's hazy eyes snapped open. The cold air was not unpleasant, but it did stave off his orgasm.

Akihito shook his head as he tugged on the fixer's hair. Please, just a little more. Asami swooped back down, starting from the beginning and taking his time with his body.

On the table, Akihito's phone buzzed. No! He was so close, so _so_ close and Asami was teasing him. He began to thrash frantically, yearning for the impending release. The ringing was annoying, distracting him from his magnificent lover. "Please," he choked on his own breath.

White spunk shot out. It might have arched in the air or just splattered on the table. Akihito had no idea. He collapsed back, chest heaving. His wrist was exhausted. Usually, he could get himself off much quicker. Stupid Asami, making him immune to anyone's touches but the crime lord's. Not fair.

The photographer's phone was still buzzing. He really had an annoying ringtone, he thought suddenly. Saho's name flashed on the screen, and apprehension twisted in his gut. It was after eleven, so he assumed that the pregnant lady had already gone to bed.

"Hello?" Please don't be big news. No bad news, either. Something stupid about the wedding, or the wrong number.

"Hey. It's me."

No duh. He did have caller ID. "What's up?"

"I'm starving," she chirped away, like a morning dove despite it being so late. "And I need something tangy."

"Ookkkaayy," he stood up and stretched. Holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder, he jumped slightly, pulling his jeans back up. "Do you want some of that cumin tea? Or I can whip something up." Used to cooking for two and not eating until late into the night, he missed preparing big meals. Not that he would ever tell Asami.

The woman on the other end chuckled. "No. I am running around the corner to an all night yaki imo stand. Best in town, and I thought you might want to tag along." She was polite enough to phrase it like an invite, but the woman seemed to know he stayed cooped up in the penthouse when Asami was gone. Kou and Takato would visit, and he still went to work, but Akihito could pretend that Asami wasn't knee deep in life threatening situations when he was home. As the time ticked by, he told himself that Asami would walk through the front door any minute. Any minute now…

Street food. Akihito brightened considerably. His prissy lover would grumble and pout if Akihito brought it home, preferring traditional sit-down meals. Pregnant lady for the win, she'd eat anything if the mood struck. "I'll be there in five."

He stumbled in his haste to get out of the condo. Foooodddd. Thankfully no one ever tried to bribe him. He would give up anything in exchange for some tasty ramen.

*****HB*****

Saho's groan was salacious around her spoon. "Thises swoh good."

He nudged her with his elbow. She had a habit of walking with her eyes closed, savoring every bite. Pretty soon, she would face plant into a street lamp. While hilarious, Kirishima would undoubtedly be pissed if he came home to a brain damaged wife. "Watch where you're going."

"Oh, please! I sneak out to get food all the time, especially when Kei works late. I could find my way home blind!"

He knew he liked Saho for a reason. Her heels clacked loudly on the hot pavement. It was unusually warm for early May, and the streets were quiet. The photographer assumed most folks were tucking their children in bed, or slugging through a nightshift job. "I thought pregnant women weren't supposed to wear heels," he took another bite of his sweet potato. She was right; it was scrumptious.

"I've had to make some adjustments. And they aren't very comfortable."

"Then why wear them?"

"Fashion waits for no one, and I hate being the shortest person in the office."

Women. He could not comprehend such vanity, but then no one was vainer than Asami. It must have been a rich people thing. The investigative journalist could sympathize with the short problem, however. He was one of the smallest people in the newsroom, and Mayeda would use his head as an armrest or ruffle his hair. Mayeda was not trying to be a jerk like Mitarai, but more like an older brother. Really, Akihito glanced at the tottering woman; he did not think she was that short. She was almost his height.

"Stop right there," a gun pressed into his side.

Akihito froze. A strong grip on his arm pulled him into the dark mouth of the alley. Saho quickly followed, the echo of her footsteps reverberating in the dark. The man was dirty, his face smeared with something like tar, and his clothes were several sizes too big. His hands shook and he sniffed loudly as he leveled the gun at Saho's swollen belly.

"No!" Akihito stepped in front of her, his arms outstretched so she could not wrestle around him. She grabbed ahold of his wrist, as if she were going to pull him away from the dangerous dark. She hissed his name, but he focused the mugger. "Stay back," the photographer sibilated. She had two people to think of.

"Gimme your wallet!" the man hissed lowly.

They were so close to the light, so close to the dimly lit street and some do-gooder who might intervene or call the cops. "Okay, okay," the photographer nodded his head jerkily, and slowly lowered his arm. "I'm reaching into my back pocket, okay?"

"No sudden moves," the robber waved the gun between them.

"All right. Here you go," he tried to keep his cool. Life-threatening situations were slowly become the norm for him, but usually Asami was nearby, backing him up. No matter how far his reach stretched, Asami could not cross time and space to rescue them now. Saho's nails dug into his bare arm, and her moist breath was warm on his neck. Akihito finally grasped that she was part of Asami's reach, his eyes and ears while the fixer was away. Like hell he would let a pregnant lady protect him.

The man's gaze locked on Saho's death grip, her knuckles as white as teeth. They pulsed like stars, but Akihito realized belatedly that it was the streetlight catching on her ring. "And her ring. Bitch got a purse?"

"No!" Akihito gulped. Saho loved her ring, showed it to anyone who thought to ask. He supposed it was beautiful, and probably worth more than he made in a year.

"It's fine," Saho let go. The blood rushing back into his tingling arm was tepid against the muggy night. Dropping the ring into his torn glove, Akihito swore he saw her lower lip tremble as she held up both hands. "No purse."

"Saho––"

"It's just jewelry," she cut him off. "It's not worth our lives."

He fathomed what she was saying. Their lives. The baby's life, for the gun was still pointed at her growing daughter.

The man fired a warning shot up into the air. They both jumped and then Saho doubled over, clutching her stomach protectively. Akihito found himself hunching over her, arms wrapped tightly around both of them. The thief used their distraction, disappearing like smoke into the inky black.

"Come on," the photographer tried to keep his voice from shaking as he helped Saho up right. He glanced down the alleyway, its darkness impregnable but smelling like death and decay. "Let's get back to the building."

"Okay," Saho clutched his arm tightly, using it as a leash to steer him home.

Their sweet potatoes lay on the ground, trampled underfoot as they quickly left. Akihito could hear sirens in the distance. Someone had heard the shot and called the police. Asami would know what happened by morning.

*****HB*****

"Drink this. It will make you feel better," Saho thrust a steaming mug into his hands. This woman drank tea like Asami drank whiskey.

"Thanks," Akihito accepted the cup gratefully. It was sweet, and he found that the more he drank it with honey, the more he liked tea. "I don't know why I'm so cold."

"It's the adrenaline," Saho sat on the sofa across from him. "You're going into a light shock, nothing life threatening, but it does take its toll on the body."

"I guess," he sipped the brew. It was not the first time he had seen a gun, or even the first time one had been pointed at him. But the thought of the shiny bullet embedding itself deep inside Saho, snuffing out the life of the baby sent him into a panic. And when he told her that, she smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, Akihito. That is very kind of you," she stirred her tea.

They sat inside Saho's parlor––for it was more upscale than an ordinary living room. He was actually surprised to see such femininity and extravagance in Kirishima's living room. Most couples had asexual color schemes to satisfy both genders, but Saho accented her deep grays with a light blush and burgundy. It was sensual, but most definitely not something the stoic secretary would pick out if he were single. The couches were plush, sterling gray and the blush accent pillows were nestled in the crook of Akihito's back. All the woods were dark cherry. Bookshelves were crammed with classical literature, and gold figurines. Car magazines littered the coffee table. He had no idea Kirishima liked cars, and by a copy of Magnum featuring an article on the latest Bugatti, there were baseball cards. Murakami Masanori and Suzuki Ichiro, complete with protective covers. Go figure.

"This is a conversation I was hoping to save for a later time, when we were more familiar with each other," Saho spoke, breaking him out of his wandering thoughts.

"Huh?" he grunted, as eloquent as usual. Curiosity clashed with apprehension as she leaned back. A fat cat settled beside her, its head tucked just below the protuberant curve of her stomach, and it purred as loud as an airplane engine. Saho looked like a super villian. Maybe the Kingpin. Asami could take a few notes from her, just for drama's sake.

"I know you love Ryu, for which I am thankful. However, that endangers you more than his previous––" she pressed her hands over her tummy, as if covering her child's ears, and mouthed, "––fuck buddies."

So, maybe he snickered a teensy bit at that one. Saho was not threatening him away from Asami, and was still maintaining her no-swearing rule.

She dropped her hands, grinning because Akihito was still relaxed. It was not going to be a painful conversation, whatsoever. "We all know how far Ryuichi will go to keep you safe." They both winced at painful memories, dangerous raids or forays into enemy territory. Hong Kong was not the worst thing the lovers had suffered. "Now, more than ever, you have to be careful. Everything you do impacts him."

He bristled at the touchy subject. "I'm not changing my life or giving up any freedom––"

"Yes, you are," dark lips curled into a bloodcurdling snarl. "Because you're getting married. There is no independence or selfishness in marriage, because there isn't room for it. You are literally giving yourself away, and it is the most beautiful thing you can give in the world. So when you make decisions, you have to consider your partner."

"Tell that to Asami," the photographer huffed. He collapsed into the couch, arms crossed and tea forgotten. All Asami wanted to do was control. He was as flexible as a titanium rod.

"Trust me, kid, he always thinks of you. At least for the big stuff." The young man perked up, his ears twitching as she rushed on. "Why do you think he hasn't called you for two weeks? Why he has bodyguards follow you around, and why he destroys anyone who raises a finger against you? He does everything he can to protect you, and it is why you aren't going to tell him what happened tonight."

That had his attention. "That is not what I expected you to say at all," the photojournalist admitted.

She chuckled. "I didn't think it would be. The men have enough on their plate as it is. The last thing they need to worry about is a random mugging."

"It was random, then?" Visions of Pushkin taunting Asami danced in his head, and thick bile rose in his throat. He made Asami vulnerable; Akihito finally understood what Saho was saying. It was his responsibility to keep the fixer safe, and that meant acting cautiously.

"Heavens, no!" she waved her hand before pushing herself up. The cat fell off her lap, with a peevish sniff. This was going to be a lengthy conversation. Refills were necessary. "This will happen to you occasionally, so you'll get used to it. It does, however, bring us to the heart of the issues: there are rules to being a part of Ryuichi's inner circle."

Akihito groaned. "I just learned the rules about being your client today! I don't know if I have any more room in my head!"

"Hmm. I didn't know I had rules," the woman sounded genuinely surprised.

"You do, according to your assistants. I bet Asami doesn't know he has rules, either." Which meant Akihito and the rest of the frickin' world had them. It was starting to get overly complicated and stupid. As long as he did his best, did the rules really matter?

"Probably not. They are unspoken, so that might be why he is clueless. Personally, I think men are obtuse."

Or the people in power did not know they were being handled by their subordinates––not that he would voice that thought. Saho struck him as a person who liked to be in control, so she would not take kindly to that observation.

"Though they may seem obvious, I'm going to spell them out for you. That way, you will know for sure," she picked up, tangent forgotten.

"I'm listening," he said gravely. Akihito knew they were important. The rules protected Asami, perhaps saving his life one day. This was going to be the most important thing Kirishima's wife ever told him.

"Never carry his address, phone number, any private information or ways to contact him. Ryuichi is a public figure, but people want to weasel into his personal life."

Yeah, like Sudoh Shuu. Groupies could be a bitch. "You have his phone number," he protested. He knew, because he had seen her call the fixer.

"He's saved as one of my dry cleaners," she flushed. "Not that he knows that. I'm terrible with phone numbers, or else I would just memorize it. I don't even know Kei's."

"I'll help you learn it," Akihito promised. It was a rule, and she was breaking it. They could be accountable to each other.

She nodded, not really listening to him. "Obviously, you don't talk about Ryuichi. People will ask you if you know him, for favors or to help set up meetings. You don't know him––do you understand? Whoever it is will know it is a barefaced lie, and that is fine. Just keep repeating that you do not know him. If someone asks for information, they do not get it. No matter how life-threatening, or how painful the situation is, you don't give it to them. That was what tonight was."

"He was a bad guy?" Akihito gasped.

"No. He was some junkie paid to steal our wallets. He had no idea who we were, or anything about whoever slipped him the ten thousand note. It was a quick way to make some cash."

Hazel eyes glowed in the lowlight. "Someone was looking for Asami's address."

"Bingo," sighed Saho. "They'll never hurt you, and it will look like an ordinary mugging. We did not have what they wanted, and no one followed us home, so it is a dead end."

Oh crap. He had not yet thought to check to see if they had a tail. The fat cat hopped off the couch. It hit the floor with an impressive thud that rattled the heavy mugs. Akihito winced. "How often has this happened to you?"

"I was on my third ring," she admitted. "And I've been married to Kei for seven years."

"How has he not noticed?" cried Akihito, sitting up quickly. The secretary was preternaturally observant. It was preposterous to think he would not notice his wife continuously getting mugged. Eventually a pattern would emerge.

"Ehh," she shrugged nonchalantly. "I commission another set, and if he asks, I tell him it's getting cleaned. He's only ever asked once."

Sneaky. "What happened to honesty and doing everything for your partner?" He did not mean to sound accusatory, but the idea that Saho lied to Kirishima unsettled him.

"I do it for Kei. He doesn't need the extra stress. I probably worry too much about it, but I refuse to endanger my husband in anyway. Heart attacks and stress related health issues included."

"Damn. That is a good reason," he muttered, and clutched his cup tighter.

"I know," agreed Saho. "I assume that the men have different rules, though Kei and I have never discussed it. I know it is a lot to take in, Akihito, but it is important. We do it to protect our husbands."

Husbands. Saho considered Asami his husband, and in just months, he would be. Reality exploded all around him at the implications. He was hopelessly in love with Asami Ryuichi, and would do whatever was necessary to keep him alive and safe.

Just like Saho.

And… "Is Suoh married?"

Saho laughed and laughed at that one.

*****HB*****

**A/N:**

**Ta-dah! **

**It's done. I have no idea why, but I write this story slower than I do Sunshine. Wedding talk resumes next chapter. It is going to have some direction, Akihito makes some decisions and we are going to start seeing a little bit of the bridezilla in Asami. **

**Your reviews, kudos, follows/bookmarks and favorites are always appreciated. Thank you so much for supporting this story!**


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